


The People vs. Warren J. Putnam

by sarahyellow



Series: Commander's Omega [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: (But kind of love sex at the same time), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Angry Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Comforting Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Legal Drama, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Situational Humiliation, Smut, Top Bucky Barnes, Trials, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 07:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15990494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: The date for Commander Warren Putnam’s trial has finally come round. Luckily, Bucky has Xanax, and willpower. And Steve.Steve is his. His to do what he wants with. Anything. And yeah, Bucky’s going to wreck him, going to take out all the frustration and pain and just shove it deep up inside Steve’s ass.





	1. Trials and Tribulations

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Bucky's been living with Steve/Becca/Sarah/Darcy for a year and a half.

They’re in the courthouse hallway—all marble and stone and portraits of ostensibly important judges on the high walls. Bucky’s sitting on an incredibly uncomfortable wooden bench, twisting his fingers so harshly that the skin is turning pink and aggravated. Steve, who is sitting next to him, leans over and gently takes his hands, keeping him from hurting himself further with the nervous habit. “Hey,” he says, waiting until he gets Bucky to meet his eyes. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll be in there with you. You can look at me the whole time if you want. Nobody can hurt you in there.”

Bucky grimaces. “They’re going to humiliate me.”

“No, Buck—”

“They said I had to be ready for it,” Bucky insists, though his voice is quiet and almost as pinched as his face. He is, of course, referring to the prosecution lawyers. Days ago, Bucky had had to sit through an agonizing hour of rehearsal, wherein the assistant district attorney played the part of the defense and asked him _horrible_ questions. Questions that made him feel like a liar, a whore, a piece of shit. It was supposed to be to prepare Bucky for the reality of what’s about to happen now. He still doesn’t feel prepared. _And_ , god help him, he’s in heat. With the trial looming over him like some huge shadow, consuming his thoughts, he hadn’t even stopped to consider the timing. If he had, he’d have started suppressants last month. It’s going to be even _more_ humiliating, being in a stuffy courtroom and having everyone _knowing_. Bucky’s got a slick pad in his underwear and it ticks him off just as much as anything else. _Why_ hadn’t he thought to start back up on the suppressants?! _Because you’re an idiot_ , he thinks. _Because you’re a slut for heat sex and now you’re paying the price._

Steve gets his attention again by squeezing his hands. Bucky looks up and Steve is giving him kind, tender eyes. “You want to take one of your pills?” 

He’s referring to Bucky’s Xanax. After a few months of living with Steve, it’d become apparent that Bucky needed therapy. The nightmares alone, well… he’d just needed therapy. PTSD was the diagnosis, and the Xanax helped him when his anxiety got to be too much. He doesn’t usually take them that often, but now? Bucky doesn’t hesitate. He nods his head fast to indicate that Steve should get the pill bottle out and hand him one. Bucky swallows it dry, needing it to work into his system as quickly as possible. He is, after all, about to confront his attacker, his captor. His rapist. 

The date for Commander Warren Putnam’s trial has finally come round.

Steve continues to wait with Bucky on the uncomfortable bench in the hall until a bailiff comes out from the courtroom doors and informs them that they can enter. Bucky swallows heavily, thinking that the pill definitely hasn’t yet had enough time to work into his system, but he does rise with Steve and follow the bailiff into the courtroom. 

His guts twist right away, because even though he’d promised himself over and over that he wouldn’t look over at the defense table, he does. Warren is there, immediately identifiable to Bucky even from the back. He’s dressed in a suit and looks like he’s just gotten a quality haircut and that pisses Bucky off. He wants Warren in orange, disheveled and in chains. Of course he knows that’s not how it works, but still, he can fantasize. 

Steve is still holding his hand, grounding him. He’s scented Bucky endlessly since the moment they woke up that morning in an effort to keep him calm, and Bucky supposes that it’s made some difference. But then Warren’s lawyer leans over and says something into his ear, and then Warren is turning around and he’s looking _right_ at Bucky. Bucky freezes. “Steve,” he says, feeling downright sick. “Steve no. I don’t— I _can’t_ …”

Steve’s hand appears on his cheek, and he’s turning Bucky’s face to look at him. “You _can_ Buck. You know you can.” 

_You know you have to_ , is more like it, though Steve’s too kind to say it. Subpoenas are nasty things. Bucky inhales deeply and tries to focus on the kind, blue depths of Steve’s eyes. No one can hurt him in here, Steve said so and it’s true. He’s safe. He can look at Steve the whole time. “Yeah,” he echoes with far less conviction than Steve had used. “Yeah I can.” 

Steve draws him in and squeezes him, placing a kiss on his temple. “Come on,” he says softly. “Don’t look at him.” He leads Bucky up to the front row of the seats of the gallery. There’s a chair there with a “reserved” sign, for Bucky. There is no sign for Steve. Steve gives him one last squeeze of the hand and then steps away, going back to sit in one of the chairs that are for the public. Bucky hates it. He really, really wants his mate with him, but it’s not allowed. Not now. 

The woman whom Bucky knows was the Putnams' second vessel arrives and seats herself down just next to him. She spares him a quick glance and a poor imitation of a smile, but then keeps to herself. The two of them have had hardly any interaction. They’re both here, now, for the same reason though. To put a son of a bitch in jail. Hopefully. 

Things proceed, convene. Bucky tries to zone out of it, since it’s not his time to testify yet. The Xanax probably helps with that. The jury comes in and sits, then the Judge appears, and the lawyers make their opening statements. Bucky ignores it to the best of his ability. When Angela—that’s her name—is called up as the prosecution’s first witness, Bucky can’t help listening. The prosecutor asks her about her experiences while she was posted as the Putnams' vessel. The defense objects all the time, but Bucky still gets to hear the terrible details of Angela’s experience that he’s never heard before. 

“And did the defendant ever rape you—” (“Objection, prejudicial language.”—“Sustained.”) “Did the defendant ever ‘engage with you sexually’ outside of the ceremony nights?” 

Angela’s face pinches, but she still seems amazingly composed. Bucky thinks that he’ll be far worse once they get him up there. “Yes,” she says. “He did. A couple of times, when I wasn’t in heat.” 

“When even the religious laws of Gilead forbade it?” 

She nods. “Yes.” 

“Was there anything in particular about this ‘sexual activity’ that bothered you?” the lawyer asks, making it clear through his intonation that he thinks the phrasing of “sexual activity” is a joke. 

“I didn’t want it,” she says immediately, voice firm and face stony. Then she says, “He raped me… anally.” Bucky’s stomach clenches hard again. _God_. “He hurt me,” she says. “A lot. I bled.” At this point, Angela looks at Bucky—it’s only for a quick second, but he sees it. “I’d heard from the household staff that his previous vessel had been a guy. And that Commander Putnam… that he preferred them. I assume that’s why.” 

Bucky knows that Angela didn’t mean to implicate that it was _his_ fault that she was hurt that way, but he still feels like it is. He swallows hard and listens to the rest of her testimony drag on and on, and of course it gets ten times worse when the defense attorney gets his chance to interrogate her. It’s awful. 

When the prosecutor calls Bucky’s name, it takes him a second to muster the will to even get up out of his chair. He manages though. He goes up and sits in the witness stand. He places his hand on the bible that they hand him, even though he was raised Jewish. It doesn’t matter though. He’s going to tell every damned detail, just as it happened. He’s going to ruin Warren if he can. After he’s sworn in he just places his hands in his lap—they feel clammy. The prosecutor, a man named Mr. Lawson (ironic, yes), steps forward and gives Bucky a gentle smile. Bucky appreciates it as much as he can, which isn’t much. “Mr. Barnes,” the man begins, but he hardly gets another word out before the defense attorney is standing up and objecting, saying, 

“Your Honor, this witness is clearly in no state to testify." 

The judge frowns. “And the basis for your objection is?” He sounds ready to be mad. 

“The witness is obviously in heat.” Bucky blushes massively. He _knew_ this would happen, goddammit. “In such a state, this makes him an unreliable witness.” 

The objection is obscene and insulting and completely not true, and the judge _is_ angry. Bucky gets a degree of satisfaction from this. He glances to Steve and sees what he expected—his Alpha is fuming, face pinked and hands gripped into angry fists. The judge is quick to tell the defense attorney that his objection is overruled, and that he should be careful with making statements bordering on discrimination. The defense lawyer shuts up. 

Continuing, Mr. Lawson asks Bucky, “Mr. Barnes, can you please describe what your life was like before the coup that formed Gilead?” (“Objection, relevance: the witness' previous life has nothing to do with the defendant.”—“Sustained.”) Lawson changes his question: “How did you become a vessel?" 

Bucky swallows. “I fought in the resistance militia. I was captured and taken to a red center.” (“Objection, relevance: Mr. Putnam was not involved in any activities of the so-called ‘red centers’.”—“Your honor, the defendant became a client of the red centers the moment that he obtained the witness as his ‘vessel’ from one.”) 

The judge overrules the objection and Lawson goes on to ask Bucky, “Was your entry into the vessel program voluntary?” 

“Absolutely not,” Bucky says, surprising himself with the conviction and lack of nerves he’s able to answer that question with. “I was forced and kept there against my will.” 

Lawson nods. “And how were you treated at this red center? What went on?” 

“At first we were sat down and told what we were there for—to be bred by Commanders.” Bucky fights to contain a shudder at the word “bred,” because, _Ew_. “Then we were given red clothes and a schedule." 

“What did this schedule consist of?” 

“We slept on cots in the school’s old gymnasium. We ate meals in the cafeteria. We were sat down in the old classrooms and showed videos, given lectures. They were supposed to be lessons, indoctrination. We got shamed a lot, told about how life in Gilead was better for us. Just… a lot of training us to say ‘yes’ and obey." 

“How did this ‘training’ occur?” 

Bucky shrugs. “The people who acted up got hurt. Badly.” 

Lawson nods and he goes back to the plaintiff’s table. He picks up four large pieces of poster board—Bucky already knows what’s on them. On an easel, Lawson puts up the least terrible one: a blown-up image of Bucky’s tagged ear, before he’d had it safely removed by a doctor. “Can you please tell the court what this image is?” 

“It’s my right ear, before I had the tag removed.” 

“Tag?” Lawson asks, as if he doesn’t know. 

“Yeah. They um, used a machine to pierce and wrap metal tags around our ears. They had serial numbers on them and chips in them that could be scanned for our information.” 

“Such as which commander you were posted with? Your criminal history?” (“Objection, leading the witness.”—“Overruled.”) 

“Yes,” Bucky says. 

“Hm.” Lawson puts up the second poster board. “And what is this an image of?” 

“That’s my left ear,” Bucky says. He tucks his hair that’s grown past chin-length by now behind said ear, so that the jury can see the real thing. 

“Why is the top third of it missing?” 

“I cut it off myself, when I was trying to escape the red center. I couldn’t get it off any other way.” 

“So you were so desperate to escape the situation that you’d been placed in, that you were willing to mutilate yourself?” 

“Yes.” 

“And were you successful in this escape?” 

Bucky frowns, remembering. “For about two months. Then they caught me and brought me back.” 

“At which point they tagged your other ear, correct?” 

“Yes." 

“Hm.” Lawson puts up the next picture. “And this one?” 

“That’s the bottom of my feet." 

“Can you tell the jury when this picture was taken?” 

“A week ago.” 

“So these scars are over two years old?" 

“Yes.” 

Lawson turns to face the jury. “Even after _two_ years, this is how severe the scars are on the bottom of his feet.” Bucky expects the defense to yell out some objection for the prosecutor directly addressing the jury, but they don’t. “Mr. Barnes, how did you obtain these scars?” 

“After I ran away and was brought back to the red center, they strapped me down to a table and beat my feet with a metal cable.” Bucky puts it out there blithely because he’s just so used to the memory, but he hears several members of the jury make soft gasping sounds. _Good_ , he thinks. _Let them realize how despicable the regime was, if any of them were too stupid not to know in the first place._

Lawson puts the last picture up; the worst. “What is this picture of?” he asks, even though it’s obvious since Bucky’s naked torso and face are in the picture. 

“That was my left side, before I received my prosthetic.” He holds his left hand up briefly, showing the metal plating. 

“How did you lose your arm?” Lawson asks. Again, as if he doesn’t know. 

“I was convicted of treason for fighting in the resistance. My sentence was amputation of my arm.” Again, the jury members make quiet noises of discomfort. 

"And you were forced to live this way until?” 

“Until the regime collapsed.” 

“I see. Now I want to ask you some questions about your time with the Putnams. How were you placed with the defendant?” 

“Um, they just told me that I was going to live with him and be his vessel. They told me my new name was Ofwarren.” 

“Your 'patronymic'.” 

“Yes." 

“Did you want this?” 

“No. Of course not.” 

“And what was daily life like in the Putnams’ household? How were you expected to act?” 

“I slept in the basement. Carol—Mrs. Putnam, I mean—didn’t interact with me much. I knew the household staff. I was expected to do the daily shopping at the market and to kind of stay out of everyone’s way the rest of the time.” 

“And what about ‘ceremony nights’? Can you tell us about those?” 

Bucky has to steel himself anew. He clutches the arms of the chair he’s sitting in. “I wasn’t allowed suppressants, and birth control was forbidden. So every month when I had my heat, everyone gathered in the living room. I had to kneel on a cushion and Warren would read from the bible—stuff having to do with servants acting as surrogates. Old testament, I think.” 

“Would you say that this was offered as justification for what came next?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what was that?" 

Bucky swallows, realizes that his mouth feels incredibly dry. “May I have some water please?” 

Lawson says, “Of course,” and brings him a glass from the prosecution’s table. 

Bucky sips and then hands it back to him. “Thanks,” he says. “Um, after, we’d go upstairs; Warren and Carol and I. There was a specific way the religious laws said we had to do it.” 

“Which was?” 

Bucky pushes past his mortification to say, “I’d present near the edge of the bed, Carol would sit in front of me and hold my wrist—hard. She always dug her nails in to hurt me.” (“Objection, Mrs. Putnam isn’t on trial here.”—“Objection sustained.”) 

The judge looks at Bucky. “Please limit your testimony to the actions of the defendant.” 

Bucky nods his acquiescence. “Warren stood behind me. He had sex with me that way, then when he was done he’d leave the room. Then I’d leave the room too and go back to the basement. The whole thing was repeated every night until my heat was over.” 

“Was the sex ever consensual?" 

Bucky feels himself flush, but this time it’s in anger. “No. Never.” 

“Was there ever any unwanted sexual activity besides this?” 

“Yes. I was often made to… perform oral sex on him, whenever he wanted.” 

“And this was also an activity prohibited by the religious laws of Gilead?” 

“Yes. He wasn’t supposed to touch me except on ceremony nights.” 

“I see. Mr. Barnes, did you ever become pregnant from the ‘ceremony nights’?” 

Bucky swallows, hating that memory too. “Eventually, yes. But I miscarried a couple of months in.” 

“And what followed after that?” 

“Well Warren tried to rape me once more after that when I wasn’t in heat, and also tried to bond me, but Jasper stepped in and then I was returned to the red center.” 

“Can you please clarify who Jasper is?” 

“Oh, um he was the household guardian.” 

“Alright. Well thank you for your testimony, Mr. Barnes.” Lawson looks at the judge. “I have no further questions for this witness.” The judge nods, and then the defense attorney gets up and approaches, and Bucky is very, very glad he took the Xanax; maybe regrets not having taken two. 

“Mr. Barnes,” the lawyer—a man whom Bucky knows is named Mr. Dixon—asks, “You did, as a member of the illegal militia, murder many men and women, did you not? As a sniper?” (“Objection, relevance?”—“It goes to establish the character of the witness and thus the credibility of his testimony, your Honor.”—“I’ll allow it.”) Dixon asks him the question again, in the exact same words. 

Bucky glowers at the man. “I fought, yes. There were battles.” 

“And wasn’t your kill list in the dozens?” he asks. 

“I didn’t keep count, but I believe it was well over a hundred,” Bucky says defiantly. No one’s going to make him feel anything but proud of all the guardians he killed. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of murders,” Dixon says, still using the obnoxious term of ‘murder’. “Now, the injuries that we saw in the photographs; why did you receive them?” 

“For doing things the regime didn’t like,” Bucky snaps. 

“So they were, in fact, government-sanctioned criminal sentences?” (“Objection, leading the witness.”—“Overruled.”) “Mr. Barnes?” 

“If you want to call Gilead a government, then I suppose so,” Bucky says tersely. 

Dixon seems unperturbed by his tone. “Alright,” he says. “Now, did you physically or verbally resist when you were informed of and transported to your placement with Mr. Putnam?” 

“No. But we weren’t allowed to—” 

“Did you or did you not resist? 

Bucky grits his teeth. “No.” 

“Hm. That’s odd. Well, while in the care of the Putnams, were you fed well? Clothed well? Given access to a comfortable bed and suitable bathing facilities?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“Moving on, ceremony nights have been explained, ad nauseam. When these nights occurred, when you were asked to kneel and sit quietly and then go upstairs to have sex with Mr. Putnam, did you ever physically or verbally protest?” 

“No. But I COULDN’T—” 

“Did you or did you not?!” 

“…No,” Bucky grits out. 

“Was Mr. Putnam unnecessarily rough when he was having sex with you? Did he physically hurt you? Hit or scratch you? Make you hurt or bleed? 

Bucky hates the answer that he has to give. “No, but Carol…” (“Objection, we've established that this is immaterial.”—"Sustained.”) “No,” Bucky forces himself to say. “He didn’t _physically_ harm me,” making sure to place emphasis on the word ‘physically’. 

“Alright. Tell me, Mr. Barnes: do you or have you ever wanted children?” 

“Yes.” 

“From a young age?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Theoretically. Like, one day. Like a lot of people do.” 

“And you have children now, correct?” 

“Yes. I have two children. One adopted and one biological.” 

“So… you wanted children, you actually _had_ a child with a Mr. Steven Rogers, conceived on a ceremony night when Mr. Rogers was your assigned commander and you his vessel?” 

“Yes but—” 

“Thank you, that’s answer enough.” 

There is no objection from the prosecution, but the judge just says, “Let the witness answer the question fully.” 

Bucky nods, grateful and feeling vindictive. “Steve was an undercover operative of the resistance. He wasn’t really a commander. He offered not to touch me from the very first night.” 

“But you let him?” 

“Well, yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Steve was kind. He gave me a choice, he didn’t force me. And I was afraid of being sent to the Dakotas, to the colonies. Toxic fields where you got cancer and were worked to death. That’s where vessels like me were sent if they couldn’t have a baby within five years.” 

“ _Criminally-convicted_ vessels like you, you mean?” 

Bucky sighs. “According to the laws of Gilead, yes.” 

“So, you’ve said you’ve always wanted a baby. What was your reaction when you learned that you had become pregnant by Mr. Putnam?” 

“I didn’t want it." 

Dixon frowns—theatrically, in Bucky’s opinion—and walks back to get papers from the defense’s table. “Really?” he says. “Even though you _just_ said that you’d always wanted a child?” 

“Not like that,” Bucky grits out. 

“Really? Because in the deposition you gave,” he waggles the papers, “you stated that you were ‘a little happy at the thought of a baby’. You didn’t say ‘upset’ or ‘relieved to have escaped the colonies’. You said ‘a little glad’.” He looks at Bucky with a raised eyebrow. “Which is it?” 

“Yes, I suppose in some miniscule way I thought of it that way,” Bucky says. “I had nothing. I _was_ nothing, back then. Treated like crap. It was kind of unavoidable to try and find happiness _somewhere_. But I didn’t want to be _raped_ to get pregnant.” 

“But how was Mr. Putnam to know he was raping you if you made no verbal or physical protestations?” 

“I _told_ you,” Bucky growls, “I wasn’t allowed to. I would’ve been beaten or hurt some other way. You _saw_ the scars and injuries I sustained. Tazing was the most common method. They used cattle prods to taze us with—Carol used to love to do that. I have scars from all the times she and the guardians burnt me. Want to see them?” (“Your _Honor_ : objection, exceeds the question. The witness is giving a full-on narrative.”—“Sustained. Please try and keep your answers limited to the specific parameters of the questions asked by the defense.”) 

Dixon continues, “You’ve claimed that Mr. Putnam had you perform oral sex on him.” 

“Yes. All the time.” 

“Okay. I’m going to make an educated guess that this was yet another ‘rape’ that you neither verbally nor physically resisted? 

“Like all the other times you asked me: NO. I wasn’t allowed.” 

“Well poor Mr. Putnam. Seems like he never had much of a chance to figure out what the heck was going on in your head. No way to deduce consent, since most people just go with it, like _you_ did, when they consent to sex.” (“Objection, argumentative.”—"Sustained. Watch yourself, counselor.”) 

“Yes, your Honor.” Dixon looks back at Bucky. “I know you’ve already mentioned this, but could you please relay to the jury again why you were taken away from your placement at the Putnams’ household?” 

“Warren attacked me. He tried to rape me outside of heat and forcibly bond me.” 

“Hm. Would you say that Mr. Putnam was in his right mind?" 

Bucky gulps. For the first time, he glances at Warren. The son of a bitch is smirking, and Bucky pulls his gaze away. “He… he was in rut.” 

“Have you ever been around alphas in rut before?” 

“Of course.” 

“Did Mr. Putnam seem to be exhibiting the typical symptoms of rut that you’d seen in other alphas throughout your life?" 

“…No.” 

“What was different?” 

“He… he was kind of wild. He didn’t seem to be processing anything I said. He just attacked me.” 

Dixon nods as if this is the answer he was looking for. “Mr. Barnes, have you heard of the condition of feral rut?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did it seem to you like Mr. Putnam might be in such a state?” 

“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.” 

“Hm, well luckily some people are. Your Honor, I submit documents from Mr. Putnam’s doctor, confirming that he did indeed experience a feral rut and was therefore not in control of his actions.” Dixon takes another paper and hands it to the judge, who looks down and begins reading it. (“Objection, prejudicial. Any medical opinions procured from a Gilead-compliant physician are inherently biased toward other members of the regime.”—“Your _Honor_ , that’s ridiculously presumptive. The physician in question was and is a neutral party who _still_ practices medicine.”) 

The judge continues to read the paper for a moment, then looks up. “The prosecution's objection is overruled. I’ll allow the evidence of the physician’s report.” 

Dixon continues, “Now, even though he was vulnerable and in a feral state which was out of his control, Mr. Putnam still did not have intercourse or forcibly bond you on this occasion, did he? He restrained himself?” 

“No. The household guardian stepped in.” 

“And you were then sent to Mr. Rogers’ household, another posting which you did not protest, correct?” 

“I wasn’t allowed to protest!” Bucky says loudly, fed up with the insinuation that he was compliant in his treatment. 

“Yes or no?” 

“No, I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut.” 

Dixon smiles, actually _smiles_ , and Bucky hates him for it. “So, we’ve established that you didn’t protest your placement with Mr. Putnam, you were provided with a comfortable living environment, you didn’t protest ceremony nights, you didn’t protest the oral sex that you performed on him, that you were, in you own words ‘a little glad’ when you became pregnant; that Mr. Putnam did not harm you even when in a feral state, _and_ that you continued your consistent pattern of not complaining or objecting when you were placed with your next Commander and had sex with him, correct?” 

Bucky glares and spits out, “Fuck you!” 

Dixon acts shocked. “Your _Honor_!” 

The judge looks at Bucky sternly. “I don’t tolerate outbursts like that in my courtroom, Mr. Barnes. Any more of that and you’ll be in contempt.” 

Buck grits his teeth but says, “Yes sir.” 

“I have no further questions for this witness.” Dixon goes to sit down. 

Lawson stands right up and asks, “Redirect, your Honor?” 

“Go ahead.” 

“James,” he says, using Bucky’s given name for the first time, “all of these times when you had sex with Mr. Putnam, when you were sent to placements as a vessel and didn’t say no or physically fight, can you give a general explanation as to why you didn’t fight or protest?” 

Bucky nods, so, so grateful that he’s finally getting a chance to explain. “It became clear, very early on, that any protests would be met with violent punishment.” 

“Remind us of the examples of said punishments you encountered, in yourself and others.” 

Bucky shrugs. “Gouged-out eyes, amputations of fingers and limbs, burnings, beatings, whippings, tazing, prolonged isolation and deprivation of necessities.” He glances over at the jury to see their reaction, and gets great satisfaction in seeing that most of them look horrified. 

“Thank you,” Lawson says. “No further questions.” 

The judge tells Bucky he may return to his seat in the gallery or leave if he wishes, and Bucky feels nearly faint as he gets up. All he can think is: he did it. He got through it. He glances back to see Steve, and the look on his mate’s face is loving and proud. Bucky takes strength from that. He walks back to Steve, who is already getting up and coming to guide him out of the room. In the hallway, Steve pulls him right into his arms and holds him, scenting him and whispering in his ear how brave he was, how perfect, what a good job he did. 

“Thanks,” Bucky mutters back quietly. “Can we go home now?” He feels shaky and all he wants is to go home and regain some sense of control over his life. 

“Of course baby,” Steve says, and he takes Bucky away from the awful courthouse. 


	2. Indecent Proposals

When they get home, Bucky is bone weary. The Xanax makes him tired, yeah, but it’s more than that, he knows. He’s mentally exhausted, and his mood is about as low as it could be. He’s too tired to even try to put a name to it. Steve holds him for a while and tries to coax some talk out of him, but Bucky’s not ready for that. He just pecks a kiss on Steve’s cheek and plods off to the bedroom. He changes into sleeping clothes. He wants to sleep for a week.

-

By the time he wakes up, Bucky feels well-rested but still… well he isn’t even sure. He sighs and gets off the bed and goes out to where Steve is in the kitchen. Cooking. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Steve?”

Steve looks up and grins widely. “Hey baby.”

“Steve, what the hell are you doing?” Steve can’t cook. He _shouldn’t_ cook. He doesn’t, however, appear to have set anything on fire or burned himself yet, and whatever it is that he’s stirring in a pan on the stove smells delicious. Bucky makes his way over to the counter and plops onto one of the barstools. 

Steve smiles like he’s really, really proud of himself and turns the burner off. “I made dinner.”

Bucky seriously doubts that, and his wince probably shows it. “What’s it?”

Spinach chicken cheese stuff.”

“Excuse me?” Bucky leans over to look into the pan. “Ah. Goo. I see.”

“Hey, it’s like a delicious dip. S’got a ton of salt like you like, and we’re just going to sit on the couch and dip chips in it and watch a movie. I was thinking that space one you like. _The Martian_?”

Bucky smiles a little because Steve is so sweet. He’s the best boyfriend, the best mate. Bucky takes the spoon Steve had been stirring the “goo” with and takes a wary taste. It’s actually good, so he tells Steve so. “But I’m just not in the mood for a movie,” he admits. “And honestly? I don’t even have an appetite.”

Steve frowns in that concerned way that he does. “From today?”

“Of course from today!” Bucky doesn’t yell it, but it definitely comes out as a snap—a snap he wasn’t planning. He immediately blushes and looks down at the countertop. “Sorry. I just… I’m not hungry.”

Steve is quiet for a long minute, then he says, “Okay.” He goes and grabs one of the larger Pyrex bowls they have and dumps all the goo in it, then puts the lid on loosely and sticks it in the fridge. He turns and comes around to Bucky’s side of the island. He cups Bucky’s face to look up at him. “Let’s go in the bedroom,” he says. It’s soft, giving Bucky the option to be nasty again and say no.

But he doesn’t. He nods mutely and holds Steve’s hand and follows him into their bedroom. Steve closes the door and Bucky asks, “Where’re the girls?”

“Darcy took them to her mom’s for the night. I told her we needed alone time.”

“Hmph,” Bucky grumps. “We do?”

“Yes,” Steve says, and his voice is just a tad bit firmer than before. “We do.” He goes and sits on the edge of the bed and draws Bucky in to stand between the vee of his legs. “You went through a huge ordeal today. You were so, so brave. And I know you’re not feeling good right now.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that, because Steve’s right but he doesn’t want to _say_ it. He just looks down at their joined hands and nods. He despondently counts the plates in his fingers…

“I want you to talk to me about it,” Steve says. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Bucky scoffs. “That’s what my therapist is for.” Again, his tone isn’t quite friendly. “Leave it alone, Steve.”

Steve gives Bucky’s hands a gentle squeeze, pulls him in a little closer so that he can put his hands on his hips. “ _No_ ,” He says, and it’s his _Voice_ , which makes Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise. Steve hardly ever uses his Voice on Bucky. “Tell me Bucky,” he says. “I’m your Alpha and I want to know what’s going through your head, so you need to tell me how you’re feeling. Try.”

Bucky twists his lips in annoyance, because he can’t _not_ do as Steve has asked. Maybe if they weren’t bonded he’d have had the willpower—lord knows he was stubborn enough. But they’re bonded now. Steve’s scar is on his neck and Bucky’s on Steve’s. And Steve’s Voice is a terribly compelling thing; near-painful to ignore. Bucky sighs heavily, then says, “Fine. I’m feeling…” he thinks about it. “Angry,” he says. And it’s strange, because he hadn’t been sure he felt so angry until he said the word. And now, _god_ , is he _so_ angry. He feels his cheeks flush with it. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m pissed off.”

“Okay,” Steve says, thumbs rubbing over Bucky’s hipbones. “And what else?”

Another put-upon sigh and seconds of thinking, and Bucky admits, “I feel out of control. Really out of control. Just like back then, when I was nothing, nothing but a slave.”

“Baby—”

“Today in the courtroom… it was just as bad as I thought it’d be. And worse.” He glares, and though he’s looking at Steve, he knows his mate knows the glare isn’t for him. “I _hated_ them.”

“Who, baby?”

“Everyone,” Bucky grits. “The judge, for every time he sustained one of the defense’s stupid objections; that filthy attorney who insulted me and twisted everything and didn’t let me get a word in edgewise.” He looks down, ashamed. “I was even mad at Lawson.”

“What? Why?”

“I dunno. It’s stupid.”

“ _Bucky_.” His Voice, again. Damn him.

“God Steve! I just hated that he had to show all those pictures, make a spectacle out of me. I hated that I had to talk about all of it, every humiliating detail! I felt so out of control.” He meets Steve’s eyes, incensed. “And YOU’RE not helping, using your Voice on me.” He pokes a finger in Steve’s chest, hard enough that maybe it hurts, but probably not much. “Jerk.”

Steve shushes him and pulls him into a hug, his face pressed below Bucky’s chest. “You have every right to be feeling those things, Buck. But you can’t keep it in and you can’t take it out on me.”

Bucky squeezes his fists by his sides. “Well then I don’t know what to do.” 

Steve loosens, pulls back and looks up at him. “What if I did?”

“What?”

“What if I gave you a way to feel in control? Get it all out? Do you think that would make you feel better?”

Bucky frowns. He can tell that Steve is talking about sex just by the look in his eyes. He’s offering to let Bucky top, to dominate him, but Bucky just sighs in frustration again. He unclenches his hands and reaches to run them through Steve’s hair. “I’m in heat Stevie. That…” he groans, _frustrated_ , “that’s not what I need, right now.” 

“It’s not what your _body_ needs,” Steve says. “But it’s what _you_ need.”

Bucky’s lips twist. “Yeah, great.” Steve leans in again, pulls Bucky’s tee shirt up to bare his stomach and places kisses there. “Steeeve,” Bucky complains.

Steve speaks into his skin, saying, “What if I could give you both?”

That makes absolutely no sense to Bucky, and he makes an undefinable noise in his throat to communicate that. He feels Steve smile against his stomach. Steve drops the tee and gets up from the bed. He goes over to the bedside dresser where they keep their sex stuff—condoms, lube, toys. Bucky watches with an eyebrow raised as Steve pulls out the KY and Bucky’s knotting dildo. He gives Steve an unimpressed look. “Why would I want that when I’ve got you? Your cock suddenly stop working?”

Steve comes back over with the toy. “No,” he says. “Has yours?”

“What?”

Steve gets that look again; the one that says he’s pleased with himself. He puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and pushes, turning him to face the bed. “Bend over the mattress,” he says softly. Bucky’s still not sure where this is going, but he huffs and does as told. Steve’s hands ruck up his tee in the back. “Take it off,” he says. He’s not using his Voice anymore, just speaking quietly, surely. Bucky pulls his shirt over his head and bends back down to the mattress. Behind, he feels Steve edge down his pajama pants and then his underwear, pulling them off. 

Bucky groans. “ _Steve_ , don’t—”

“Shut up,” Steve says. “I’ve seen it before Buck. Nothing to get worked up about. You think it doesn’t get me hot, thinking about you aching inside and leaking into your pants all day?” Bucky groans again but says nothing. Steve tosses the pajama pants and Bucky’s underwear with the heavy slick pad over somewhere, unconcerned. He spreads Bucky’s cheeks, and Bucky just knows that he’s staring _right_ at it. Steve loves how soft and relaxed Bucky gets during his heats, how wet he always is.

“Take a picture, Rogers,” he grumbles into the bedcovers. “It’ll last longer.” Normally, Steve would reward such a quip with a bite or a slap to his ass, but instead, he licks one, fat swipe over Bucky’s hole. “Fuck!” Bucky immediately says, not having expected it. “Christ, Steve.”

“Shh,” he coos. “Gonna make you feel so good Buck. Gonna give you everything you need.”

The next thing he knows, Bucky hears Steve popping the cap of the lube and a few seconds later feels the soft-firm head of the dildo pressing up against his entrance. Bucky groans, not understanding _why_. He’s about to whine to Steve that this is such a downgrade from Steve’s actual cock, but then Steve is pushing the dildo in and it’s breaching Bucky’s body, sliding all the way in so easily, Bucky’s body yielding to it instinctively. So he kind of forgets to complain. He makes a grunting noise and presses his face into the bedding. It’s a fake cock, but it still feels damn good, especially when Steve pushes it far enough in to get the slight bulge of the uninflated knot in him. “Mmn,” Bucky says, eyes closed as he enjoys the feeling, rocking back into it a bit. He reconsiders his annoyance at Steve. It _is_ kind of hot, in its own way, to have his Alpha fuck him with a fake cock. Bucky feels Steve press a kiss to his tailbone, his large hand holding the toy as close against Bucky’s body as it can go.

“How’s that feel baby?”

Bucky whimpers—not because the feeling is world-changing or anything, but because Steve’s voice, his _sex_ voice, is so, so good. Always is. Bucky’s mood is improving already. “Good,” he answers, the word coming out breathier than intended.

“Mm,” Steve hums. He moves indiscernibly behind him, and then Bucky feels the toy’s knot growing inside of him, fast. 

“Oh!” He squeezes his eyes shut, moaning at the feeling of the bulge filling him so nice, pressing against his insides in all the right places. He jerks his hips against the mattress without thinking about it, his now-hard cock throbbing. “Stevie, what—?”

“I told you,” Steve says, standing up and running both hands down the planes of Bucky’s back. “I’m going to give you everything you need.”

“The fuck?” Bucky turns his head to glare at Steve. “You didn’t even fuck me with it!”

Steve simply smiles and shakes his head at him, as if Bucky’s an ignorant child. That makes Bucky’s anger rise back to the surface. He stands up, careless of the fact that he’s butt-naked and has a toy knotted up inside his ass. Steve speaks before Bucky can get an angry word out. “Your body needs filled, yeah? Needs a knot?” 

Bucky fumes, about to reach behind himself to unscrew the base and get the damn thing out of him. “Fuck you, Steve.” But before he can reach around, Steve stills him, grabbing his wrist. 

“Wait, Buck.” 

His tone is so soft, so earnest, that Bucky sinks back a little. He huffs a breath and waits. “What?”

Steve smiles, softer than before, and begins to take his clothes off. It’s efficient, the way he does it; fast, as if he’s trying to save time. Once he’s completely naked he crawls up onto the bed and gets on all fours. He meets Bucky’s eyes over his shoulder and gives him a _look_ , and then he lowers his entire front down to the mattress, chest pressed down and ass up, presented. 

_Fuck_.

Now Bucky gets it. His eyes darken as he lets his gaze rake over the sight of Steve presenting on their bed, like an omega, like something for Bucky to fuck and take and vent his frustration on if he wants. Bucky’s cock jerks. His asshole spasms around the toy. “Fuck, Steve,” he says. He grabs the bottle of lube and gets up on the bed, kneeling behind his boyfriend. He reaches out, runs his metal fingers from Steve’s neck all the way down to his tailbone. “You wanna?” he asks. “Want to be my good little alpha?” 

Steve makes a noise and shakes his head. “Wanna be your good little omega, Buck.”

Bucky’s breath catches. _Oh, god_. He reaches down and squeezes the base of his cock, which has gotten impossibly harder at hearing those words. “What?” he asks, voice dark and incredulous.

“I want you to fuck me,” Steve says, and he pushes his ass back more, increasing the delicious arch of his lower back. “Fuck me like an omega. Fuck me rough and give it to me good.” He peeks back at Bucky. “Dominate me.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky says, because he loves that idea and isn’t able to verbalize that yet. All the blood has left his brain for better places. “You… are you sure?”

Steve nods, pressing his face back into the covers and saying, “Take me. Get me all wet and ready.” He’s making his voice needy and thin like an omega’s and it’s hot as hell.

“Christ,” Bucky breathes. 

“I want to be sloppy and soft,” Steve says. “Like I’m in heat. Just a hole for you to fuck. You can be as mean as you want, like when we play rough, or even worse. Control me. I want you to.”

Bucky’s mind is melting at the edges. He gapes dumbly and contracts his ass purposefully on the toy inside him, stimulating himself with it. Steve’s knot is actually bigger, but the dildo feels really good too. Licking his lips, Bucky reaches to pick up the bottle of lube. He pours a trickle right down into the crack of Steve’s ass, watching raptly as it drools down over his hole and then his taint, his balls. A few drops hit the sheets. “Look at that,” Bucky says, voice already lowering, already getting into the character that Steve’s words have started to shape in his mind, certain that this is _exactly_ what he wants. What he needs. Fuck, Steve is so smart. 

Bucky gets lube on the fingers of his right hand and presses one up against Steve’s rim. It’s tight, but Bucky is going to do it. He’s going to make Steve his soft, little bitch. He presses in slowly with that one finger, giving Steve time to get used to it. He thrusts, in and out, then adds another and stuffs more slick into him. “Got you all sopping wet, baby,” he says, voice dark just like Steve’s gets when he’s the one doing this to Bucky. “Gotta open up for me though,” he says.

“Do it,” Steve groans, pushing his hips back. “Fucking wreck me, Buck.”

Bucky grins wickedly, a mean, sexual thrill ripping through him so fast that before he knows it he’s slapping Steve’s ass with his metal hand. Steve grunts and his asshole clenches around Bucky’s fingers that he’s still got buried inside of him. He thrusts them, in and out, dripping unnecessary amounts of lube onto them just because he can. Steve is _his_. His to do what he wants with. Anything. And yeah, Bucky’s going to wreck him, going to take out all the frustration and pain and just shove it deep up inside Steve’s ass. _God_. 

He keeps moving his fingers, twisting them when they’re all the way inside and tugging down against Steve’s rim when they draw out. Eventually, Steve does loosen up and Bucky adds a third finger. Steve grunts and groans but he still pushes his ass back into it, like he’s desperate for it. Bucky growls, “Yeah, you like that don’t you? You should see it. Your sloppy cunt’s just eating it all up. Bet I could fit my whole fucking fist up in there.”

Steve groans louder than before, because they both know that’s one of his unspoken fantasies, but he shakes his head as best he can against the bad. “No, please, please.”

“Please?” Bucky asks, mocking. “Please what? What do you need baby? What’s this nasty hole need, huh?” He pushes his fingers in hard, knuckles bumping against Steve’s cheeks and fingers jabbing into that spot that gets a wail out of him.

“Oh! oh, _ah_ —I, I need… I need it.”

“Need WHAT?” Bucky snaps, smacking Steve with his metal hand again, this time even harder. Steve moans and Bucky knows it’ll bruise something fierce. He finds that he doesn’t care.

“Your cock!” Steve nearly yells, whimpering at the end and _still_ pushing his hips back into it. “Want to feel it, please.”

Bucky loves that. He sneers where Steve can’t see and pumps his fingers viciously, stretching and tugging at Steve’s rim until it _is_ all loose and puffy, just like Bucky’s gets every time he’s in heat. “Fuck, you should see yourself,” he says, voice low and gravelly and mean. “Should see your cunt, Jesus. So sloppy. I’ll just slide right in.” Steve whimpers, and Bucky chuckles. “You’ll like that, huh?”

“Yes,” Steve says, sounding just as desperate as Bucky wants him to be. 

He yanks his hand out of Steve and takes a minute to just stare at the fluttering gape of it, too much lube all around and trickling out. “Nasty,” he whispers, in a voice somewhere between reverence and disgust. He squeezes back onto the toy buried inside of him, eyes slipping shut at how good it feels pressing against his glands and prostate. He reaches back with one hand and pushes on the base of it, pulsating it the little bit that it can move. “Oh, god,” he groans. Bucky can feel the slick coating the inside of his own thighs. He opens his eyes again to glare at the back of Steve, presented so perfectly for him. _Jeeze_ , he thinks, this is doing it for him. He’s not just erect, he’s vicious. And he’s allowed to be. Steve said he could be. And now Bucky’s going to fuck him so hard he cries. 

Curling over Steve’s back, Bucky takes his cock in hand and guides it to Steve’s hole. “You want this?” he asks.

“Yeah, yes.”

“Beg for it.”

Steve sobs, a great huff breathed into the sheets. “Please, please Bucky. _Sir_ , fuck me. Please.”

Bucky feels pretty sure that if he were to turn him around, he’d see tears on Steve’s face. _Good_ , he thinks viciously. He presses the head of his cock into Steve’s body, and doesn’t take any time to slide in slowly. He gives it to Steve all at once, and even though Bucky’s omega and has a smaller cock, it’s still enough to make Steve cry out at having to take it so fast. “Ooh,” Bucky coos, making the sweet sound mean somehow, draping himself over Steve and kissing behind one of his ears. “This what you wanted, baby?”

“Fuck,” Steve grunts, and that’s all he gets out. He’s just breathing harshly into the bed. Based on how red the back of his neck is, Bucky can just imagine how flushed his face is. He sits back and grabs Steve’s hips harshly, making absolutely no effort to be gentle with his prosthetic hand. He _wants_ Steve to hurt. Wants him to bruise. And boy, will he ever. Bucky pulls back until his cock is almost all the way out, then he thrusts back in, humping into Steve so violently that he releases a surprised “Guh” sort of sound and is pushed further up the mattress. “Bucky,” Steve groans, and it’s overwhelmed and there’re tears to it but it’s not a no. It’s definitely not a no.

“Shut up,” Bucky snaps, moving his right hand to press down against the back of Steve’s neck, holding him down cruelly and fucking into him as hard as he can. “You’re such a slut, you know that?” he says, not planning out his words, just blabbering whatever filth that comes to mind. “Fucking pathetic. Just spread yourself any time and let me fuck right up in you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Steve chants, and he’s babbling too. 

Bucky needs more in his ass. He doesn’t say anything about it, he just pulls Steve further back and positions his own heel right below his ass and sits on it. Every time he fucks into Steve, his cock is squeezed and every time he pulls back the base of the dildo hits his heel and fucks into him. It’s perfect. It’s just what Bucky needs. So he keeps doing it, keeps rocking into Steve and fucking himself with the toy and getting closer and closer to coming. He doesn’t even care if Steve comes, he’s just aroused and angry and he’s so sure he can spend it all inside Steve’s ass, all of it. Steve is moaning and crying out little sounds constantly now.

Bucky reaches forward and grips the longest strands of Steve’s short hair on top of his head and yanks. Steve gives a yelp that tells Bucky that it _really_ hurts, and Bucky snarls, “I thought I told you to shut the fuck up.” He pulls all the way out of Steve, sitting back fully onto his heel and the pressure of the dildo, and the whimper that Steve gives at the loss is glorious. He really does sound just like an omega in heat. Bucky smacks his ass hard with his flesh hand, over and over, not counting the number. Steve sobs and Bucky stops as suddenly as he started, shoving back into Steve with zero warning. He curls right over his back again and humps him like a dog, fast and uncoordinated and desperate. He looses a filthy groan into Steve’s neck and bites, _hard_ , into his scent gland. He tastes blood and pheromones and _Steve_ , and Steve makes a noise like he’s dying and shudders into what may or may not be an orgasm.

Bucky doesn’t know or care, because he’s shooting off into Steve’s ass in what feels like the most intense release he’s had in years.

.oOo.

Steve _had_ come. In the end, Bucky’s glad about that, since it means he didn’t have to be nice enough to help him out any. The sex had been _mean_. Bucky hadn’t wanted to do anything nice. He’d just wanted to come on a knot and fuck out all his aggression on Steve. And he had. 

Now, they’re both laying on their backs, splayed out next to each other. Bucky tips his head over, and Steve does too. By now they’ve both stopped panting. They’re still sweaty and messy as fuck though, and the dildo is still knotted inside Bucky’s ass. “Want me to take it out?” Steve offers. From his tone, and from the way they just looked at each other, they both know that it’s over.

So Bucky nods his head. “Yeah,” he says. He lifts his ass weakly when Steve rolls over to reach for it. Steve’s hand moves, knuckles brushing against Bucky’s balls as he turns the base of the toy. The knot goes down, just like Steve’s would if it’d been _him_ tied in Bucky’s body for twenty or thirty minutes. It’s a bittersweet feeling, every time. A relief to have come and be done with ridding the ache, but sad all the same to lose that terrible, wonderful pressure inside. “Fuck,” he sighs quietly as Steve pulls the toy all the way out and tosses it carelessly towards the foot of the bed. 

Steve slides up against him, covering him from the side. He’s staring hard with those fucking blue, earnest eyes. “You get what you needed?” he asks, sounding pretty sure that he knows what Bucky’s going to say.

Bucky scowls and pinches the skin he’d broken over Steve’s bond scar. It’ll be a little worse, now. A little more. And Bucky likes that. He likes it a lot. Steve leans down and slots their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. Bucky’s so drained and happy and fucked out that he doesn’t even care, just lets Steve suck and push and make their chins all messy with spit. Finally, he grunts and turns his head to the side, breaking the kiss. “Mm,” he says, eyes closed because it’s just easier than keeping them open. He does smile though, so that Steve can know he’s pleased. “Yeah. S’perfect.”

Steve rumbles deep in his chest, not really a growl, but still a sound only an alpha can make. Bucky smiles more and rubs his cheek up blindly, satisfied when Steve kisses him there and then dips to suck and scent at his neck. “Don’t bite me,” Bucky mumbles, still not bothering to open his eyes. He pets his hand weakly over Steve’s sweaty back. “That’s mine. I fucked you up, made you bleed. You don’t get that.”

He can hear Steve snort softly, and then say an amused little, “Yes, sir.”

Bucky opens his eyes. Steve’s messy, beautiful face is above him, still looking ready to give him the world if that’s what Bucky wants. Bucky makes sure to look at Steve in that same, deep way. “Thank you,” he says. His voice is quiet but at least it’s serious. Steve will know. 

Steve just smiles and knocks their foreheads together. “You’re welcome, Buck. You know I want to give you anything you need. Always.”

Tears catch behind Bucky’s eyeballs unexpectedly, and he hurries and rolls away from under Steve before they can form at the corners and be seen. _Fuck, he loves this man_. Bucky gets off the bed and stands. “We’re nasty, Rogers,” he says. “Need a bath.”  
Steve laughs. “Yeah.”

“Come on.” Bucky waves for Steve to get up and follow him into the bathroom. He doesn’t even look back. He knows Steve will.

-

Bucky turns on the water and adjusts it to the temperature that’s the usual compromise between what they each prefer. He sits at the edge of the tub and holds his hand under the running water, just feeling the hard, steady stream of it against his fingers. And maybe thinking about how wonderful what he just did was. He feels loose now, like all those terrible emotions that’d been stuck inside him are gone and have left a little hollow spot for good, happy things to fill again in time. And he knows that Steve was right. Steve is always right. He’s smart like that. 

Steve pads into the bathroom, his footsteps quiet but discernable to Bucky anyway. The man does weigh over two hundred pounds, after all. “Hey,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around Bucky from behind. Bucky softens back against it and that’s how Steve knows that he has permission to hold him tighter. He pulls him into a true hug and whispers into his ear, “You did me good, baby.” Bucky smiles where Steve can’t see and he hums in pleasure. “You feel better now?” Steve asks. “Got all that poison out from today?”

“Yeah,” Bucky admits. Then he chuckles. “Pretty sure I put it all up your ass.”

“Mmn,” Steve says. He kisses just below Bucky’s ear. “Yeah. I can feel it dribbling out of me right now.”

Oh dear. Bucky knows he just came and he can’t get it up again, not _this_ soon, but still, Steve’s words make Bucky’s belly swirl. He glances down at the bath. The tub has filled almost halfway with water by now. “Come on,” he says, pulling gently away from Steve. “Let’s get in.”

Their bathtub is one of those modern things that’s sleek and pretty, but is definitely not made to fit two men of their size in it at the same time. When they sink inside, Bucky at one end and Steve at the other and their feet tangling together in the middle, the water in the half-filled tub has risen dangerously close to the top. Bucky smiles across at Steve, appreciating the sight of his body in the steamy water that maybe Bucky made a _tad_ bit hotter than he himself likes. Steve deserves a reward, after all. “I love you, you know that?” he says. So unnecessary, but somehow needed all the same.

“Yeah Buck. I know,” he says. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes affectionately. “Sap,” he says, giving Steve a smile and his foot a nudge in the water. 

Steve’s arms have both been hanging outside over the edge of the tub, stretching his shoulders and putting his pecs on display in a way that Bucky very much enjoys. But now Steve is staring at Bucky with the strangest, most unfamiliar look Bucky’s ever seen from him. Maybe something between undying love and worry. Bucky doesn’t quite know what it is or what to make of it.

That is until Steve brings his right hand back over the side of the tub, fist opening to reveal a ring of dark metal, tiny in his huge palm. “What d’ya think?” he asks. 

Bucky’s so stupid that it takes him a full five seconds to even realize what it is, or what it means. When he does, his face splits into an ecstatic grin and he launches himself across at Steve. Water rushes out over the edges of the tub in a flood. He mashes his mouth against Steve’s in what is probably the most uncoordinated kiss they’ve ever shared. Like the water flooding out onto the floor though, it doesn’t matter a damned bit. Steve laughs into Bucky’s mouth, strong arms wrapping around him and legs parting to allow him closer. Bucky is making noises that would be words before he even pulls back from the kiss. “Goddammit Steve!” he says, grinning wide and this time not trying to hide the sappy tears that gather at the corners of his eyes. “I fucking love you!”

“Language,” Steve says, just because it’s the thing he always says. Right now though, it pretty much just sounds like: “I fucking love you too.”

-

They remember to fish the dropped ring out of the bottom of the tub before they open the drain, thank god.

.oOo.

Oh, and a week later they get notice that Commander Warren J. Putnam’s trial is over and that he’s been given a prison sentence of forty to life for his crimes. He’s forty-seven now, Bucky knows. He’ll be nearly ninety by the time he’s even eligible for parole. With any luck, he’ll die in a cell. 

Bucky calls his mom and Becca and they begin planning the wedding that Bucky figures he won’t get much input in edgewise. But that’s okay, because he has no objections. He has Steve.


End file.
